


Drabbles

by stuckybarnes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Has Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Cuddles, Pack Feels, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Protective Derek, Protective Stiles, Sleepy Cuddles, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckybarnes/pseuds/stuckybarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts and short AUs I write as I come up with them.  No chapter is related.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pack Mentality

**Author's Note:**

> hi, all. this is a little break from my main chapter fic. each chapter will be a new prompt and i'll update this whenever i feel inspired. :)

Stiles blinks, looking unsurprised at the sorry bunch in front of his bedroom window at 2:00 am. 

Rain drops sluice down his open bedroom window and onto his sill in fat droplets. Lightening occasionally bleeds into the dark night sky, thunder rolling in booming waves. Wind shakes the reinforced panes of his window, blowing his curtains into his room. 

He sucks his teeth as he cards a hand through his sleep-mussed hair from his spot on his bed. He sits cross-legged in nothing but Batman boxer briefs, staring up at the sorry excuse of a pack, so beyond modesty that he forgot the word existed. It's a testament to how much his life has changed that this impromptu meeting is not the first of its kind.

"This is really dumb. You're all stupid and lame and you suck." Stiles says bluntly, scrubbing a hand over his cheek, which undoubtedly has pillow marks on it. 

Standing in front of him was quite possibly the saddest-looking pack in all of existence, which is saying a lot. Derek, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica stand questioningly at his window, dripping wet and all kinds of dirty. Erica has - what is that - bits of animal in her hair? Boyd stands tall and stoic, but his eyes are smiling. Derek's eyes are still glowing a bright blue, and Stiles raises a brow as the big wolf sniffles. Isaac looks like a sad puppy, with Boyd not far off. Scott seems the most at home, only looking slightly like a wet dog, rightly so. 

And they're in height order, which makes Stiles chuckle tiredly.

This always happens. The wolves in the pack either go on some stupid wolf expedition at some ungodly hour of night, or they just feel lonely. Then, because they're all big furry babies, they have to trudge over and break into Stiles' room, and pout until they get solace and comfort from him, the human boy. Of all things, they find comfort in Stiles. Scott has explained it to him before - hell, they all have. Stiles is inherently warm, soft, calm, no matter how much he fidgets. He naturally brings comfort because of his sweet, natural scent. He soothes the pack, and so on. And when the entire pack comes together for pack cuddles, including Stiles, everybody falls asleep quickly and with a soft ease.

Annoyingly enough, the nights that the pack show up in his room, or even when the sleepovers are planned ahead of time in a much less awkward way, Stiles falls asleep faster than he ever does when the feeling of pack is around him. So, fine, with their wolfy senses, it makes sense that they sleep in a bunch.

But when they stumble into your window soaking wet and brooding at two in the morning, repeatedly, Stiles is allowed to be a little unamused and pouty.

"You suck, too. And you're lame. We love you. Let us sleep here, please?" Scott asks, and Stiles nods admittedly, and then, for some reason, glances at Derek. The two of them had grown considerably closer, that was true. Stiles even showed up at Derek's sometimes with his pillow when he was having a rough night. And Derek found Stiles' constant talking and fidgeting more endearing than anything now, which was very awesome, in Stiles' opinion. Now, Derek offers a slight smile, and Stiles swears the man's eyes light up hopefully. 

And, with that, plus the state of the rest of the mangy pack, how could Stiles say no? Also, Stiles had an even lesser attention span when he was woken up at ass o'clock, and so his judgment was never exactly pristine.

"You all have clothes in my bottom drawer from one occasion or another. Take turns showering, or shower together, I don't know what you're all into. There are towels in the closet down the hall - you know how it goes, for fuck's sake," Stiles says with a noncommittal wave of his hand. The wolves all have thankful smiles on their dirty faces, and they shuffle off to Stiles' (thankfully) large shower. He gives a tired whine, slumping back down on the bed unceremoniously, bottom in the air and face smooshed into the pillow once again. Stiles was nearly asleep again as he heard the line of feet walking out of his room, and he knew Derek was still by him. He could tell, in a sort of soothing, protected way, that the older man was still there. 

Derek moved closer to Stiles' bed, and Stiles saw no need to say anything except for a content grunt. Derek gently takes Stiles' ankles and pulls, so that he's not sleeping with his ass in the air anymore, and then brings the covers over his shoulders, tucking him in. Stiles smiles slightly as Derek pads out of the room. "Big softie," Stiles murmurs, and he can hear Derek's smile. 

It couldn't have been more than half an hour when Stiles woke to the sound of feet coming back into his room, now all huddled around Stiles' bed. Modesty and privacy are foreign words to the pack. Of course, they wouldn't breach another's personal space if someone didn't want it, and they'd cover up if someone was uncomfortable, but Stiles had always remained at ease with them. Derek wore nothing but dark boxer briefs, as did the rest of the boys. Erica had on boy shorts and a tank top, hair in a tight, curly bun, looking plenty tired. It's not like Stiles was much different, with his superhero underwear.

"Come on in." Stiles mutters, before waking up enough to make something clear. "Please, please, try and avoid kneeing me in the groin this time, Scott." Stiles enunciates, turning to lay on his side to glare up at Scott. The entire pack cringes in remembrance, and Scott sighs. "Dude, I offered to heal you." Stiles narrows his eyes up at his best friend, spluttering. "Wh - and I was just gonna let you cup my dick for ten to fifteen seconds until the pain was gone?" 

"I'm your best friend!" Scott argues, and the entire pack looks confused as they try to gauge how that was a decent argument. Stiles just shrugs his shoulders and nods in approval. "Fair point. But still, man. I was grumpy."

"Literally how is that a fair point?" Isaac says, damp hair hanging in his eyes. "He's my bro. My platonic bro. We're not about to make necessary dick-touching awkward."

"Oh my god," Derek groans, but there's a flush on his neck and a hesitant smile on his cheeks, and it makes Stiles smile sleepily, lifting up the blankets. "Whatever, come on in, before I get cold." Stiles says, and then, all at once, the pack piles in. Derek sleeps against his back, as always, a hand wrapped strong but gentle around his side. It was a silent agreement that both Stiles and Derek found comfort in, and nobody mentioned anything about the fact that they were spooning - maybe because the pack was waiting for them to figure it out themselves. Scott lays in by Stiles' other side so that Stiles is in the middle. The three of them curl their legs, and Erica and Boyd take the foot of the bed with their own blanket. Isaac, like the runt, lays sprawled over part of Scott and Erica, across the bed. 

If Stiles ever had any concern about being cold, he didn't need to anymore. Werewolves ran several degrees warmer than humans, and Stiles has been wearing only underwear to bed for a reason lately. Stiles smiled contentedly, burrowing his nose under the covers and nudging back against Derek, who nuzzled his stubbly cheek into the crook of Stiles' neck soothingly. They were all safe, cocooned in warmth and tucked away for the night. "You're all big babies." Stiles says quietly, softly. 

"That makes you the mom." Erica retorts, and Derek huffs out a laugh against Stiles' neck. He shudders, and it makes Derek laugh more. Stiles frowns petulantly, but Derek just nudges against him reassuringly.

"Goodnight, pups." Derek says firmly, but his smile is obvious in his words. 

 

Hours later, in the mid morning light, Stiles blinks awake with a groan. The rest of the pack is still fast asleep, which is justified. He'd had no dreams, no restless sleep, nothing. Just the soft sounds of the sleeping pack, the gently patter of rain hitting the roof. Pack nights were the nights he didn't have nightmares. They were also the nights where Derek stayed pressed against him. And whether those two things were related or not, Stiles is thrilled about both.

"You think loudly." Derek says, snapping Stiles out of his thoughts. Derek's voice is rusty with sleep, but sweet and gentle. His voice was also coming from below him. Stiles assesses the situation then, and sees that he'd rolled on top of Derek in his sleep. He did that often, it was no surprise to either of them. Everybody knew and accepted that Stiles was forever a sleep-cuddler. Stiles is laying on Derek's chest, ear over his heart, legs tangled with Derek's, and very, very flush against each other. Stiles clears his throat. "Do I?" Stiles asks, and Derek nods, pressing his face against Stiles' hair and breathing. Stiles smiles, drool on his cheek. And, really, Derek must feel the drool on his chest, too, but he just must not care. 

"You know," Derek says, "getting nightmares is normal." Stiles tenses, swallowing thickly. He isn't sure why he closes off, it's just that his dreams were angry, dark, sad, personal. They weren't meant to burden anyone except him. "Hey, there's nothing wrong with getting them, Stiles." Derek assures, bringing his arms up to wrap around Stiles' waist, clasping at the small of his back. "And there's nothing wrong with not getting them when you're laying beside someone. Pack garners comfort from pack. That's how it goes. That's why you come over to my loft sometimes when you have night terrors or panic attacks. That's why we come over here and sleep with you. It's why I sometimes show up by myself. It's - it's comfort, Stiles." Derek states quietly, and Stiles has to smile, a flush blooming over his cheeks.

"And," Derek continues, "if you and I just find more comfort in each other than with other pack members, well."

Stiles' heart flutters happily against his ribs, lips drawing into a hesitant smile. He pulls his head up, face-to-face with Derek now. 

"Well?" Stiles asks, eyebrows raised, smiling down at Derek's smug face.

"Well, who knows?" Derek says, and their eyes are bright and excited, albeit sleepy, when Derek, finally, pecks Stiles on the lips. 

Well.

Well indeed. 


	2. Ducklings and Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wants to help some ducklings and Derek offers to help out. The beginnings of Sterek ensue.

 "You have  _no_  idea how dangerous this is, do you?" Stiles grunted, crouching down to the floor to glare incredulously at the mother duck, who squawks at him.  Stiles sighed, raked a hand through his wavy hair, ignoring it when it fell in unruly tufts over his forehead.  The streets were empty and harsh winds blew dried leaves in wayward  patterns across the cement.  Street lamps cast a soft glow overhead, making Stiles' breaths show in billowy steam. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the duck. "Stay there," he commanded, poking the duck's tuft. "Right there. Yes."

 Currently, Stiles was standing in front of a long-closed convenient shop entrance, staring up at a congregation of ducklings stumbling around on the roof.  Stiles had no idea how the ducks got onto the roof in the first place, but wasn't too sure that the Mother Duck qualified for Mom of the Year. 

 Surely Mother Duck could have anticipated that ducklings couldn't make such a jump.  But, no.  Of course not, because they're ducks, and Stiles was left trying to help the ducklings down because he's too good of a person not to.

 Stiles' day started at 7:00am for a morning Psychology class, and ended at 11:15pm with a two hour lacrosse practice session after a lecture on Criminal Behavior. And he was  _sore._  The first practice of the year was always fairly shit, and always painful.  He trudged along through the empty campus, tired-eyed and desperately in need of a nap, brisk December winds making Stiles tug his wool hat over his ears and bury his nose under the collar of his red hoodie.  His cheeks were flushed from cold, and his hands were stuffed deep in hid hoodie pockets.  It was across the street from campus, right before he reached his apartment he shared with his best friend, Scott, when he heard the shrill quacking. 

 And now, at nearly midnight, because he can't look at helpless ducklings without doing something about it, he's pulling his jeans up from slipping low on his waist as he attempts another feeble jump to grab a duckling.  "You are making this  _so_ difficult." Stiles gritted, stretching his lithe body as far as it'll go to reach the nearest duckling.  He felt a sudden pinch at his finger, and Stiles jumped back, shaking his hand with a tight-lipped curse.  "Fucker!" Stiles hissed, staring up indignantly at the baby duck who nipped him.  "I am trying to  _help_  you.  It is cold, and dark, and you're all fluffy and cute, and  _stuck on a roof!"_ Stiles huffed.  Talking to the baby ducks didn't seem like the most progressive course of action, but nothing in college seemed like a particularly good choice, anyway, so he might as well continue this. 

 "I am tired.  Do you know what a sixteen-hour day feels like?  Because I do, and I would like to save you and then go to bed.  I had two hours of lacrosse practice before this, duckies.  Two hours of skidding on dirt, colliding with limbs and bones, being graced with elbows and knees to the stomach, cleats to the shins, and  _lacrosse sticks to the groin._  Do you know how horrible that is?  No, because you're a duck.  And now I'm trying to rescue ducks from a roof.  Amazing." Stiles elaborated to the animals, slotting his foot through the grids in the gate and pulling himself up to reach higher. One of them squawked, and Stiles nodded in acknowledgment.  "Yes, I understand.  Tell me more." Stiles answered softly, and another duckling ruffled its fluff and quacked.

 "How about I help you out before you bust your ass.  Seems like you already got pretty beat up today." An amused voice said from behind him.  The guy sounded snarky, like he was enjoying all this while trying not to show it. 

 Stiles scrunched up his nose.  There was only room for one snarky kid on this campus.

 Stiles whipped his head around to face the man, hopping down from the gate and turning completely.  In front of him was a man. Even better, a considerably attractive man.  With stubble, no less.  He had olive-toned skin, strong, angular features with hard green eyes below thick brows, athletic frame visible through his leather jacket.  And, get this, the guy had poked thumb-holes in his thermal henley.  Fuckin' thumb holes.  This stranger looked like an actual model who could simultaneously kick ass.

And he cut out thumb holes in his shirt.

 "I'm - what." Stiles said tactfully, intelligently.  He made a mental note not to finish off a sixteen hour day with trying to rescue stranded ducklings from a roof if there was even a possibility of running into someone like this guy.

 "Let me help you bring the ducklings down.  You apparently got your ass, among other body parts you mentioned, handed to you today during practice.  You also talk when you're frustrated.  Maybe people don't listen to you when you normally talk?" Stiles narrows his eyes at the guy at this - fuckin' psychology majors.  Stiles knows the type.  Hell, Stiles  _is_  the type.  "So. I'll give you a boost, if you want.  You seem light, it won't be hard." The guy continued, and Stiles stared blankly, and then a look of exasperation crossed his face.  "How long were you watching me whine and talk to ducks about my problems?"

 The man huffs out a laugh.  "I walked by right about the time you cursed at a ducking for nipping you. Nice, by the way." He said, and Stiles sighs.  "Gonna give me that boost, or not?" Stiles asks, eyebrows arched, and the man nodded, walked toward Stiles.

 "My name's Derek.  Figured I should tell you at least that before we're too close for comfort." Derek said, and Stiles had to smile at that, because, good point.  "'M Stiles.  Nice to meet you, man." He said, and Stiles cleared his throat, casting his eyes up to the ducklings waddling aimlessly on the roof.  There were six ducks, Stiles counted, and the Mother Duck had settled herself besides Stiles' feet. 

 "Okay," Derek started.  "Just, like, tell me what you're comfortable with, but I think you can get on my shoulders and grab the ducks.  Tell me if you want me to put you down, or anything. I don't want to hurt you any." The older man said, almost sheepishly. Almost. 

 Stiles  might have been slightly sleep-deprived and living off instant ramen for the past six months, but he was fairly sure that that was a very gentlemanly thing to say, and he had not been asked things like that often.  

 "Yeah, okay.  Hey, thanks, man, for helping.  And also for checking what I was cool with." Stiles said, and a smile ghosted his lips.  Derek offered a slight nod, nearly struck with confusion for a moment, though deciding not to question Stiles' shock.  "Well, yeah, 'course." He said.  "Okay, so,  I'll kneel a bit, and you can just hop on and adjust."

 Stiles blinked, narrowed his eyes, coughed out of the pure absurdity at how Derek phrased that. 

 "No, fuck, I meant -"

 "I know."

 "My shoulders. Hop on.  My shoulders.  I meant my shoulders." Derek amended hastily, clearing his throat.  His cheeks blossomed with color, and Stiles had to laugh awkwardly, which made Derek crack a smile, too. 

 "Anyway, now that we had a far too detailed conversation for two strangers, how about I get on your shoulders and grab some ducklings."  Stiles said, rubbing his hands together before shaking them out.   Derek crouched slightly in front of the roof, waited for Stiles to get behind him.  If Stiles were more awake, surely he wouldn't allow a stranger to carry him. 

 But Derek wanted to save baby ducks.

 Surprisingly, all Stiles had to do was brace his hands on Derek's shoulders and hop on lightly.  Stiles squirmed awkwardly for a moment, wincing in discomfort.  "Stiles? You okay?" Stiles flushed, pressing his legs against either side of Derek's waste to keep his balance.  "Yeah, no, 'M fine.  Just sore in places from lacrosse." He explained.  Derek stood slowly not to throw Stiles off.  "Right, I remember you saying something about lacrosse sticks to the groi - "

 "Let's not mention that."

 "Alright." Derek said, and Stiles can just _hear_ the grin on Derek's face.  Derek placed his hands just above Stiles' knees to keep him upright, gripping firmly.  "This okay?"

 Stiles felt hot under Derek's touch, his cheeks reddening.  "Uh-huh. "S Okay." He assured, and Derek pat his thigh in acknowledgement.

  _For fuck's sake.  This guy wants to kill me.  He's doing it on purpose,_ Stiles thought.

 Stiles was brought out of his thoughts by a baby duck quacking directly in front of him.  He figured it was better to distract himself from straddling Derek's neck anyway.

 "Hey, little guy. Or girl." Stiles cooed, and he heard Derek laugh.  Stiles scooped up the duckling and cupped it in one palm, handing it to Derek, who dropped it onto the floor by its mother.  The duckling bristled before waddling toward its mother.  Stiles beamed. 

 The process was repeated five times, until the last duckling, a particularly soft one, had been dropped carefully beside its siblings and mother. Stiles peered over the roof to assure that there are none left who strayed away from their other siblings.  Upon finding none, Stiles was content. 

 "Are you gonna make some joke about hopping off now?" Stiles asked with a grin.  Derek, with his hands tight on Stiles' thighs to make sure he wouldn't fall, jumped up slightly, jostling Stiles and making him cringe as he landed back against Derek.  "You _know_ I'm sore from lacrosse practice."  Stiles whined, kicking him lightly in the chest, and Derek laughed, kneeling until Stiles got off of Derek's shoulders. 

Stiles was proud of their teamwork, and he cast his gaze down at the family of ducks.  With a final squawk, Mother Duck began to walk down the road, ducklings following in a tight, straight line behind her.  "Goodbye.  Stay safe." Stiles called, waving, only half for the sake of comedy.  Derek watched with a soft look as Stiles waved.

"I consider that a job well done." Derek surmised, and Stiles had to nod in agreement.  "Yeah, me too.  Thanks for helping.  I don't think I would've had the heart to leave 'em, so it was good you came around." 

"No problem.  I like animals, and you seemed interesting.  To say the least." Derek said, raising a brow.

 "Not too bad yourself, Derek." Stiles said, and what now?  Stiles liked the guy. He wanted to see Derek more.  He looked like some Greek god, and he liked animals and asked before he touched.  _And he had thumb holes, what a teddy bear,_ Stiles reminded himself.

"You know," Derek said, "I think I should give you my number, in case any more ducks get stuck on a roof and we need to team up." Stiles smiled softly. 

"And," Derek continued, voice low,  "so I can help you work out your muscles if you're ever sore from lacrosse practice again." 

 _Hot. Fuck._ Stiles stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets. He definitely isn't tired anymore, that's for samn sure. 

 And his cheeks were splotchy and pink, like they were when he's nervous or excited, and it's definitely making his freckles stand out.  Derek seemed to find it more endearing than anything, and the amused and interested look in his eyes confirms it.

 "Right.  Just in case." Stiles said, a smile playing on his lips. 

 "Right." Derek said, and he winked.

 

_Fuckin' winks._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked that. again, i'll update whenever i have a new idea. LEAVE SOME FEEDBACK AND PROMPTS IN THE COMMENTS IF YOU'D LIKE. My next chapter may be from your prompt. 
> 
> tumblr: scruffydun.tumblr.com  
> instagram: spooky.pilots


	3. Partners in Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THE NOTES AT THE END!!!!
> 
> And I hope you enjoy this chapter.

"I'm not a bad person.  I don't do bad things." Stiles grunts as he hurries down the nearly desolate street.  "So, why the _fuck_ is this happening to me?"

It's one in the morning, and Stiles was just now heading back to his apartment after his college lecture on forensic psychology at his college in Virginia.  He chose forensic psychology so he could be a criminal profiler for the FBI.  He finds deviant minds and actions thoroughly interesting, which, some might say is a bit odd. 

So, that is normal for him.

The man in the dark hood several feet behind him following him for the past few blocks, though.

That is not normal for him.

"I am so fucked.  I'm dead." He mumbles, gears shifting in his mind until his eyes widen.  "I could _literally_ be fucked or dead.  He could _take_ me.  I'd be gone.  Forever." 

Stiles burrows his chin under the collar of his red hoodie, hands stuffed in their warm pockets. 

His phone is dead, of course, because it's one of those days. 

His wavy brown hair blows haphazardly against his forehead and brisk, cool wind kisses his cheeks, streetlamps casting wayward beams of light onto the otherwise dark, eerie ground.

It was a _perfect_ day to get mugged or kidnapped.

Stiles' mind was beaming with horrible possibilities.  _What am I gonna do? Oh, god, I have a dog at home! I can't leave him all alone! My dad won't like him - he's too big! He'll miss me!  Who's going to fix his ears when they flip inside-out? Who'll feed  him?_

Stiles can call Scotty, his best friend since childhood, and also his roommate, to pick him up, except _his phone is dead._

His eyes catch another figure across the street, sitting on the steps of an apartment complex. Oddly enough the figure was watching him, too.  It was a man, athletic, taller than Stiles, and he looked tense ad his gaze alternated between Stiles and the man behind him. 

Stiles' first thought is that the man behind him had an accomplice, and he'll be dead or kidnapped in minutes.

When the man by the apartment crosses the street, Stiles' mind reels with the worst possible outcomes.

He nearly screams when the man walks right up to him with a stunning smile.  "Hey!  God, I missed you so fucking much, babe." The man says, and his green eyes glisten and his olive skin practically glows with excitement, so that Stiles is contemplating whether they actually know each other.

 "Um, what - " Stiles is then stopped and pulled into a bone crushing hug, Stiles stuck somewhere near the man's shoulder.  Stiles noticed that the man behind them casually stopped walking. Stiles hugs the man back to keep the charade.  He smells nice, at least.  The guy's stubble scratches softly against Stiles' cheek. "Listen," the man hugging him begins to speak quietly and quickly.  "He's been following you for a while.  There's definitely something in his pocket.  Not a gun, too thin, maybe a needle, or something.  I dunno."  Stiles tenses in the man's arms.  "Hey, calm down? Okay? He's not gonna attempt anything now.  My name's Derek."  The man says, and Stiles murmurs his own name against the crook of Derek's neck.  "Good, that's good.  Hi, Stiles.  Weird name.  Sounds nice, though.  I'm going to pretend to date you now, until that guy leaves. Is it alright if I touch you?"  Stiles, albeit internally panicking, nods.

They pull away, and Stiles puts on a beaming smile. "I missed you, Der." Stiles says effortlessly, because 1) he doesn't want to get kidnapped, and 2) Derek is attractive and kind.  Derek looks genuinely awe-struck for a moment, but then composes himself, moving a hand to push gently away hair from Stiles' forehead.   Stiles sighs contentedly, pressing into his hand.  Derek's eyes light up, and Stiles' cheeks promptly grow three shades pinker.

As if Derek hadn't been aware of the man's presence, he turns to him, inclines his head and cocks an impressive eyebrow, stance growing protective.  Stiles figures he's around 6'2", which totally makes his own 5'11" look like nothing. He's tall and has an athletic frame, tan olive skin, angular ridges and curves, hard eyes below dark brows and a Grecian nose. 

Stiles realizes they look very different.  Stiles is much more lean, a gymnast's frame.  He's paler, with brown hair and amber eyes, moles dotting his body with a slightly upturned nose, a ring on his right eyebrow and one on his lip.  It all made him quite the little target, said his father.  He hated all those damn moles.  And he hated how everybody loved them.

"Problem, buddy?" Derek asks defensively to the man behind them. Derek slips a finder through one of Stiles' belt loops, pulling him close.  Stiles doesn't mind that.

The man behind them is caught so off-guard that he takes a moment to answer.  "No.  No, no problem.  Sorry." And he turns and leaves down the same street. 

Stiles stands silently besides Derek for a moment before turning to face him, and promptly giving him a hug.  The breath rushed out of Derek and he takes a step back to plant his ground as he embraces Stiles, not expecting all the force. 

"Hey, thanks, man. That was really nice of you.   My phone died and I would've been fucked."

Derek pulls away after a moment, smiling down at Stiles.  "It's not a problem.  I know it isn't your fault but maybe you could take up some sort of self defense?" He hums.

"I do.  Gymnastics and Krav Maga.  I'm actually good. But I don't like to use it." Stiles explains, and he probably sounds like the wimpiest punk in the entire world.

"That's really sweet. I get it.  I'm training for FBI Field Agent status at Quantico, so I understand the dislike toward constantly fighting." 

Stiles eyes go alight at that.  "No shit!  I'm taking classes to become a criminal profiler for the Feds and then do the field agent requirements!"

Derek grins excitedly.  "Looks like we'll be seeing more of each other, huh?"

"Looks like it."

"Maybe I should give you my number.  You know, to compare notes and whatnot."

"Notes." Stiles enunciates.

"And information." Derek adds.

They laugh. Stiles' cheeks are flushed.  Derek's are pink beneath his stubble.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI FRIENDS. I HOPE YOU LIKED THAT, IT WAS FUN TO WRITE. 
> 
> ALSO, I'M GOING TO BE WRITING A STORY ABOUT STILES AND DEREK IN THE FBI :)))

**Author's Note:**

> ah. sterek


End file.
